


In The Eye Of The Beholden

by mistressteacup



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF, Fall Out Boy, Jonas Brothers, My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is...
Genre: Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistressteacup/pseuds/mistressteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey, Frank, Gerard, Pete, Patrick, Mike and Kevin all have one thing in common. Need. A need to escape, to find somewhere they can recover. So they find themselves a way, out in the mountains, drawn in by an ad for an outdoor escape. An ad telling them they'll have somewhere safe, telling them that they'll have somewhere they can heal.</p><p>But the truth?</p><p>The truth is, it's not safe. It's not safe at all. And the Doctor's ideas of how to heal someone aren't exactly normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Eye Of The Beholden

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much! To everyone who is involved with bandombigbang and all the mods! :D You guys are fantastic! (: Thanks for running the show \o/ And thanks to the amazing josiemus_prime for the most fantastic art!! ((:
> 
> The Masterpost can be found [here!](http://mistressteacup.livejournal.com/8983.html)
> 
> And the wonderful art can be found [here!](http://mistressteacup.livejournal.com/8531.html) (You should go check it out :D It's the best thing ever)

 

The Doctor grins, pulling on the blue latex gloves with precision, one by one, finger by finger, stretching them across his skin like a second layer of protection.

 

He cherishes the moment, relishing it for what it means, what it signifies. The beginning. A release from reality, from the chains that hold him down.

 

Taking a deep breath, he rolls his shoulders, relaxation breathing down his neck, muscles finally smoothing out after months of stress. Months of pretending, of resisting. Smiling, he turns, facing the boy at the table, laid out, eyes closed as though in slumber.

 

As though there’s nothing to fear.

 

Nothing to be afraid of.

 

Though that may just be the drugs.

  
Once a year, he gets to indulge. To partake in the freedom, in the fine lines of beauty. To allow this to be, to allow him to be.

 

Running his tongue across his teeth, he relishes the hard edges, the concrete stiffness of them. All he would have to do is bite, and he would feel it, feel the blood in his mouth, the pain trembling along his own skin. He would feel the joy, the joy of sacrifice.

 

And he’s giving that to them, these children, these lost wanderers of the world.

 

He’s giving these children that gift.

 

The gift of death. Of pain. A pathway to the greater glory, an excitement.

 

And he’ll give that to them where no one else would even try.

 

Grinning, he picks up a scalpel. Feeling the blade in his hand, the sharp edges, the precise instrument of medicine, he shakes. Excitement trembles through his veins, anticipation clawing at the back of his neck.

 

It’s time.

 

Finally.

 

He’s ready.

 

_(And how the sheep’s coat turned red in light of its innocence.)_

 

~

 

The door opens carefully, a quiet snick of the lock as it swings inward.

 

A group of people reside inside the room, a collection of individuals from different places in life, from different worlds of reality. Some who know each other, some who don’t, sitting on the floor in a circle. All here for the same reason.

 

An escape.

 

Kevin smiles, nervous, closing the door behind him silently. He hates being late.

 

Faces turn toward him at the movement, and they smile, waving him over, friendly, welcoming.

 

He smiles, waving slightly back before he goes to sit, curling his legs beneath him as he takes the empty spot next to the scary guy with a scowl covering his face. Glancing at him covertly, Kevin blushes, turning his gaze away quickly.

 

They’re talking already, returning to the conversation he interrupted. “I say we wait ten more minutes and then we bail,” a guy covered in tattoos says, grinning as he rocks on his hands.

 

The pale guy next to him laughs, a smile quirking his lips, “His car could have broken down, or his mom could have died. You never know.”

 

“He has ten minutes. I’m being very kind, giving, you could say,” The tattoo guy grins. “He has some lee-way.”

 

The pale guy laughs, grinning, small white teeth gleaming in the light, “In case something horrible happened? I’m not sure ten minutes will be enough. What if he got eaten? By bears. We are in the woods.” He turns to Kevin, smiling widely, “Anyways, I’m Gerard, and this is my brother, Mikey,” he says, gesturing to the guy sitting beside Kevin, who waves slightly, pressing his glasses back up along the bridge of his nose.

 

“And I’m Frank,” The tattooed guy grins, waving slightly.

 

“Patrick,” A small guy waves from the other side of the circle, tugging on his trucker hat as he smiles.

 

“Pete,” Grinning, another guy with tattoos throws out his name quickly.

 

“And I’m Mike,” The guys beside him says, smirking as he turns to him, eyebrow raised, eyes lazy.

 

“Kevin,” he says, valiantly trying to hide the crack in his voice, to hide the squeak behind a cheerful wave. Wanting to distract the others from his embarrassing slip, he clears his throat, “So what’s going on?”

 

“It’s orientation for this escape thing and no one’s here yet.”

 

“That’s strange,” Kevin says, looking around at the room for the first time since he arrived, as though someone would suddenly appear.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, smiling wryly, “We’re beginning to think they got eaten by something.”

 

“I’m betting on zombies,” Frank says with a grin, crossing his fingers hopefully.

 

“Zombie apocalypse,” Mikey says, voice even, amused, “Seems likely.”

 

“Mikey,” Frank says, shocked, “Mikey. I never knew you were a non-believer.” Shaking his head sadly, he looks at Mikey, “I thought I knew you. I thought you were my friend, but I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t believe in zombies. It’s just tragedy.”

 

Mikey laughs.

 

“Laugh all you want. Zombie apocalypses exist. You won’t be laughing when I save your ass from the zombies.”

 

“Of course,” Mikey’s lips quirk as he watches Frank with amused eyes, “You’ll protect me.”

 

“Right.” Frank nods determinedly. “Of course. Zombie hunter extraordinaire, that’s me.”

 

Kevin grins, sharing a look with Gerard across the circle as their eyes catch in the lull of words.

 

“So, what do you think we’re going to do here?”

 

_(Three)_

 

“I’m not sure. It’s really beautiful though! I hope we get to go outside.”

 

_(Two)_

 

“Yeah, it’d be cool to learn some stuff about nature and how to survive. I only know a little about edible plants and stuff.”

 

_(One)_

 

“Nature is fun, but I like furniture and air conditioning, not gonna lie.”

 

_(Click)_

 

“Ye-“

 

There’s a choking sound.

 

Once.

 

Twice.

 

“Mikey?” Gerard asks, looking over at him, “You okay?”

 

But he doesn’t respond, backing away from the group, some sacrificial instinct in him, telling him to move away, to get away from anyone else, to make sure not to hurt someone.

 

To bring them down with him.

 

Choking again, he curves in on himself, bending almost in half, rocking back and forth as blood trickles out the corners of his lips, as the pain curves up his spine, trembling along his extremities.

 

His eyes open wide, blood gathering in the whites, shooting lines of red to the iris, bulging, before he sits up straight suddenly, spine firmly erect, stiff.

 

As a spread of pain explodes in his stomach.

_(Click)_

 

There’s a bang, a sudden breaking sound, tearing across ears, drilling into heads, and suddenly there’s a hole in Mikey’s stomach, gaping wide, blood dripping onto the floor, a macabre painting sinking into the carpet.

 

 _So that’s where the stains came from._ He thinks, inanely, pain sinking through his skin as he watches the horrified faces of the people in front of him.

 

There’s a ringing sound in his ears, a broken distraction from the present, from the way his insides are tearing apart, and Mikey presses farther back, holding onto his stomach, the sharp jagged pieces left from the bomb pressing into his arms, ripping into delicate skin.

 

“Mikey!” Gerard rushes forward, trying to reach Mikey, trying to help him, to bring him back, somehow, but Frank grabs onto him, holding him back, holding him safe.

 

Because this can’t be happening.

 

“No,” Mikey groans out, harsh, rough, a metallic taste staining his teeth. “Stay away. Stay the fuck away.” Tears gather at the corner of his eyes, breaking harshly at his eyelashes.

 

_(Click)_

 

There’s another boom, a finalization, the sound louder than before, echoing throughout the hall, landing on deaf ears, frozen bodies, unable to move, unable to look away.

 

Mikey gasps, one last time, his head suddenly a bloody mass as he falls, collapsing as blood seeps, staining the ground beneath him.

 

“What the fuck,” Patrick says, shocked, eyes wide. “What th-“

 

“Mikey,” Gerard says quietly, shellshocked, feeling the ground spin beneath him, before he realizes. Racing forward, he breaks Frank’s grip, tearing away from his only grasp on reality. “Mikey!”

 

It’s Mikey, but it’s not. Blood streaming along white skin, metal shrapnel pressing out from the red mess, his eyes almost completely covered by streaming darkness and tattered skin, it’s not Mikey. But it is. Broken and torn.

 

It’s Mikey.

 

Gerard falls to the ground, back arched as he curves toward Mikey, barely noticing the sudden warmth at his side as Frank joins him, “Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.” Tears crawl down his face, a growing flood, as he stares. That’s his brother.

 

Frank wraps his fingers around Gerard’s, eyes closing in horror, as he squeezes tightly, holding on with all his might.

 

_(Click Click Click)_

 

Three walls come falling down, slicing the room into three pieces, two people to each section, a wary rattling of chains and bars as they block out sight and sound.

 

Divide and conquer.

 

There’s a crackling, feedback traveling from the speakers in each section.

 

“Welcome,” a kind voice, a sweet voice comes across loudly in the silence, disturbing, wrong. “I hope the rooms are to your liking. I took the liberty of making your friend more comfortable. He was such a beautiful soul, he deserved to be cherished.” There’s a pause, a brief remembrance, before the voice continues, “Now, all of you have come here for a reason, something you haven’t told anyone, an escape, from reality, from the world as we know it. Some of you have come as friends, as family for people who need this place, who need my unique abilities. And I will do my very best to see to all your needs. Welcome to Rocky Mountain Outdoor Adventure. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

 

The speakers crackle out, and there’s a silence in the sections, a heavy weight bearing down.

 

The clanking of machinery fills the quiet, the building moving somewhere they can’t see, following its puppet master, before stopping suddenly, a pause, and then the floor drops out beneath Mike and Kevin, sending them tumbling, gravity pushing them downwards, leading them into the depths of the underworld.

 

Their shocked screams are lost, echoing in the labyrinth they find themselves in. In the underground world they’re pushed into.

 

They’ll knock themselves out, down there, through carefully placed beams, keeping them out of the way, for now.

 

One down. How to best cause mayhem, how best to spread the fear. The Doctor loves this type of game.

 

There’s a hiss of sound in the section next to them, part two of the plan, though Gerard is too distraught to notice the quiet sound, all his energy leeched from him as he leans over his brother’s body.

 

Frank curls up next to him, ear pressed against his side, the only sound he can hear the thudding of Gerard’s heart, the shallow breaths he takes with each quiet sob. He breathes in the scent, not noticing the silent, invisible intruder filling the air with weapons.

 

It seeps into them, with every breath they take, pressing into the crevices of their body until their eyes begin to droop, until they slump, falling onto Mikey, heads pressed against the jagged edges of his skin, against the metal still inside him. Blood stains their hair, their faces, merging them with Mikey, sinking together.  The gas infiltrates them, taking down their defenses, pushing them forcefully into sleep.

 

And now that those four are out of the way.

 

Time to play.

 

The Doctor would resist his urge to giggle like a child, but the only people watching are the ones on the monitor screens.

 

And they can’t hear him.

 

~

 

Patrick presses his ear against the metal wall, hoping to hear something on the other side, calling across the far too tangible barrier between them and help, “Is there anyone there?”

 

Banging on the wall, he tries to make noise, tries to cause sound waves on the other side.

 

There’s no response.

 

“Patrick, they can’t hear you.”

 

Patrick sighs, closing his eyes, resting his head against the cold metal.

 

“Come here,” Pete says, patting the spot next to him on the floor, “There’s nothing else you can do.”

 

Patrick frowns, standing up suddenly, looking around their small section. There can’t be nothing. A wooden chair sits in the corner, four legs holding it up, a normal, uninteresting chair.

 

Walking over to it, he picks it up, raising it above his head. Facing the wall, he stares at it, eyes sharp, intense. With a careful, precise movement, he brings the chair down, ramming it against the metal.

 

There’s a cracking, the wood of the chair breaking, a leg coming off and dropping towards the side. With a smug smile, he drops the chair, letting it clatter to the ground before reaching over to get the lone leg.

 

Pete raises an eyebrow, “What was that for?”

 

Patrick nods to the piece of wood, “Weapon.”

 

“Sounds good,” Pete says, smiling crookedly, patting the spot next to him more insistently, “Sit now?”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick nods, eyes glued to the wooden leg, unable to pull his eyes away, unable to stop looking, a single point of concentration. “Yeah.”

 

Reaching out a hand, Pete grabs onto Patrick’s arms, pulling him close, settling him down next to him, arms touching. Nodding contentedly, he rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, holding on tightly, “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Patrick says quietly, wrapping his hand around Pete’s, shoulders tense.

 

Pete smiles, squeezing their hands together, ”It’ll be okay, Patrick.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Really,” Pete says, pressing in closer, “it’ll be okay. I promise.”

 

Patrick frowns, ignoring Pete’s attempts to comfort him, hand tightening on the wooden chair leg, “Why aren’t you afraid?”

 

“Patrick.”

 

“No, really, I want to know,” Patrick says tightly, forcing himself to be calm, “What’s your secret. Why aren’t you fucking terrified right now?”

 

Pete stays silent for a second, just sitting there, trying to find the answer, trying to figure out how to say it.

 

“Pete,” Patrick says, desperation bleeding through his voice, “Please.”

 

“I have you.”

 

Patrick blinks, “What?”

 

“I have you, and I don’t know how to be afraid with you.”

 

“Don’t say that.” Patrick can’t protect Pete, he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how to be that person, that person who makes things okay. He doesn’t know how to be what Pete wants him to be.

 

Pete shrugs, voice quiet, “Should I have lied?”

 

“No,” Patrick says, “No.” He stalls for a moment, feeling the words build up, the feelings build up inside him, “I- Why do you trust me?”

 

“You’re Patrick,” Pete says, as though that makes any sense. As though that’s any explanation.

 

“Pete,” Patrick says again, words slipping from his grasp as he stares at Pete, overwhelmed, feeling the world close in on him.

 

“Yeah,” Pete says quietly, eyes slipping closed, “That’s me.”

 

Patrick sighs, wrapping his arm around Pete, pulling him close. This is Pete. Pete. The guy who calls him in the middle of the night, who will throw rocks at his window because Patrick didn’t answer a text. The same guy who will listen to him rant, who he can talk to for hours and hours. This is Pete. “I love you. You know that, right?”

 

Pete nods, head still buried in Patrick’s neck. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I know.”

 

~

 

Pete falls asleep first, boredom lulling him to slumber as he slumps against Patrick, filling the room with his quiet breaths.

 

There are no loud noises, no bangs, no crackling of speakers, no sound other than the natural frequency of the air itself. Nothing to frighten them, nothing to make them remember. It almost seems like a far away dream, like something that could have never happened to them, could have never happened to someone they knew. It seems like a far away story, something they heard once, a long time ago.

 

Hey, did you hear about that guy…?

 

And Patrick fights it, fights sleep, fights the silence, the calm, fights the little voice in his head telling him it’s useless, telling him that someone who could build something like this, who could plan something like this, is someone who always wins.

 

He’s going to make it through this, and he’s going to bring Pete with him.

 

Fuck anyone who disagrees.

 

So, he keeps his eyes open, keeps his mind moving even as the room grows dark, as the sun falls behind the horizon. Hours pass, and hours more, everything growing darker, Pete a warm presence against his side.

 

Monsters seem to hide themselves in corners, the human they heard over the phone turning monstrous, figments of his imagination, hiding in the corners, teeth glowing sharp.

 

He can see them, he can see their smiling faces, their excitement.

 

He can hear the voice over the speakers, sugary sweet in the darkness, the words floating across his vision.

 

_…such a beautiful soul…_

 

_…comfortable…_

 

They echo through his mind, words spinning through his head, words that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be there. But they are. And, suddenly, he can see him.

 

A smiling face, teeth sharp as he digs a knife into a mutilated body, the words curling around Patrick’s brain.

 

_Welcome._

 

A twisting face, eyes dark, gleeful, wanting. Macabre smile stretching across sharp teeth, a too wide smile, as the man stares at him, losing pieces of himself to the darkness, a part of it.

 

_Welcome._

 

The man leans down, tongue obscene, long, stretching down to lick around his fingers, a happy moan wrenched from his body as he tastes it, losing himself in it.

 

Patrick must make a noise, a sound, alerting him to his presence, reminding him that he’s there for the man’s head comes up, red eyes catching Patrick’s, holding him in a dark gaze.

 

Smile stretching across his face, almost obscene, his body starts to morph, his hands turning to claws, his body changing, becoming something terrible. A monster. And as it pounces, it smiles.

 

_I hope you enjoy your stay._

 

~

 

Patrick wakes up, dazed, sun slanting through the windows. “Pete?” He murmurs quietly, blinking his eyes open, sleep clinging to his eyelashes. Pushing his dreams away, he sits up, rubbing his eyes.

 

Where’s Pete?

 

“Pete?” He says again, forcing himself awake, fear slipping through his veins. Where’d he go? It’s not safe. He should still be here.

 

He should be here.

 

Heart beating fast, he forces himself up, eyes searching the room desperately.

 

Where is he?

 

And when he turns, he should see him, he should find him, smiling, laughing at Patrick’s paranoia. But he doesn’t.

 

He doesn’t.

 

“Pete,” Patrick says, voice breaking.

 

And he sees him, sees Pete.

 

Splayed across the wall, hands bolted down with large iron nails, rusting beneath the blood trickling down them.

 

But it’s not him. It’s not the guy who bursts with life, who lives in a reality no one can really reach. It’s not Pete. It’s not the guy he knows.

 

It’s not his friend.

 

It can’t be.

 

It can’t be Pete.

 

It can’t be Pete who’s ripped open, who has his intestines torn from his body, spilling across the ground in a tangled mess, big globs of twisted flesh seeping blood across the carpet.

 

But it is.

 

It is.

 

Head pinned to the wall, a knife jammed between his eyes, trickles of red falling across his forehead. It’s him. It’s Pete.

 

And he’s watching Patrick, watching him, eyes open, vacant.

 

Dead.

 

A sudden knocking startles him, body tensing, horror turning to fear.

 

What is that?

 

There’s a familiar voice, kind, “Hello, Patrick.”

 

What?

 

And out of the darkness, steps a man, cloth covering his body, scrubs. A doctor’s mask hiding his mouth, a cap over his head. Playing with the scalpel in his hand, sharp and precise, he smiles at Patrick kindly, “How are you?”

 

“You bastard.”

 

The Doctor just smiles, watching him, “He’s happier now. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To get away?”

 

Hate courses through his veins, a sharp pounding as he stares at the Doctor. Everything turns broken, his sight moving in jolts, the scratching of a record as it skips. Pulling the knife from Pete’s head, a slick thunk echoing throughout the room, he reaches forward, pushing himself.

 

Blindly anticipating, hoping, that the Doctor will bleed, that he’ll burn for Pete. That the knife will rip through tender skin, tearing it apart until it’s nothing, just a broken covering, a broken protection. Until the Doctor’s lying on the ground with Pete. With Pete.

 

But there’s nothing.

 

There’s fucking nothing.

 

There’s no blood, no frantic tearing of skin.

 

His hand goes straight through as though the Doctor isn’t there at all.

 

And the Doctor just smiles, eyes soft, as he shakes his head sweetly, “Patrick, dear. It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you. I’m here to take care of you, just like I took care of Pete. You’re in good hands, Patrick. Trust me.” The Doctor sighs, watching the anger in Patrick’s eyes, “It’ll be okay, you’ll find something you didn’t know you wanted before. And it’ll be beautiful.”

 

The Doctor smiles, his image slowly fading, the edges slipping away, joining with the world as wisps of smoke before all that’s left are the eyes, slowly disintegrating to nothing, dust on the wind.

 

Leaving Patrick standing there, hunched over, eyes slit, as his knife, the Doctor’s knife drips blood to the floor.

 

Pitter patter.

 

~

 

 

Kevin blinks his eyes open, groggy, an invisible weight pushing him down, drowning him in exhaustion. It’s warm beneath him, hard and soft, someplace safe, wanted. Letting out a slow breath, he pushes himself up, hands curling in the fabric beneath him.

 

“Oh, goodness.” He says quietly, eyes wide, before he blinks again, confused. His head hurts, like a smoggy sense of pain, pounding and pounding, echoes. Closing his eyes tightly, he frowns, forcing himself to focus, trying to push away the pain, hoping beyond hope it will disappear.

 

It doesn’t.

 

Turning to the man beneath him, he nudges Mike, hands already entrenched in his shirt moving to his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Mike?” Leaning into the unconscious touch, the hand at his waist, he smiles, comfortable in the darkness.

 

Is he okay?

 

There’s a rustle of fabric beneath him, rocks scraping against the ground as Mike shifts, “Yeah?” Mike says, sitting up as he groans. Confusion litters his voice, landing harshly against the rough walls surrounding them,“Kevin?”

 

Kevin nods.

 

“What the fuck happened?” Curling his hands around Kevin’s waist, he catches on, holding tightly as the world swims around him, his one point of focus.

 

“I dunno,” Kevin frowns, trying to remember, trying to bring the hazy memories back to life, “I think there was a trapdoor thingy? And then a slide? And,” He pauses, voice quiet as he continues, “Mikey.” Lapsing into silence for a moment, he sighs, “I’m not sure. What do you remember?”

 

“About the same,” Mike says simply, looking around as his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. “Where are we?”

 

It’s dark, shadows spreading from the edges, seeping around the dim spots of light provided in the corners, hidden in the walls. They taunt them in their weakness, in their human inability to see. One moment, one wrong move, and the lights will shut down, electricity failing them before they find themselves lost in the black. Vulnerable.

 

The walls echo strangely, the sharp ridges of rock and stone put into stark relief, a metallic shine catching the light. This is not a natural cavern. It was created, built, born of circumstance and need. Carefully crafted and carefully used. Specified for perfection.

 

A dark tunnel, stretching onwards and onwards, the lights flickering, the ground rough. There seems to be no end, only a continuous stretch of light, one after another, just barely showing the skeleton of the underground world they find themselves in.

 

All carefully planned.

 

This is it, isn’t it?

 

Mike shakes his head, fear pushing into his heart, drowning his mind. Fingers digging into Kevin’s side, he takes all he can before he releases him abruptly, forcing away the warmth, the companionship, “Fuck.”

 

He stands up, suddenly, quickly, brushing off his clothes, a ritual to calm himself, to bring himself back to the present, “Come on. Let’s go.” His voice is brisk, a coldness seeping through it. A distance. _I don’t want to know you_ , he thinks. _I wish I didn’t know your fucking name_.

 

Eyes sharp, he starts walking, ignoring the shuffling noises behind him, ignoring the other person in this death trap.

 

Fuck.

 

~

 

Kevin gave up talking hours ago, gave up asking where they were going, if Mike had any plan to get them out of this. He gave up on pleasantries, gave up on conversations about the weather, about anything small he could think of.

 

The stony silence he got in return became too much. Too much to plow through, to pretend it wasn’t there.

 

So now he’s quiet, docile, the perfect little soldier, marching after a leader he doesn’t even know.

 

Picking up a rock, he sighs, tossing it from hand to hand, his only distraction.

 

Nothing’s happened in hours. The scenery has remained unchanged, just miles and miles of tunnel, of mired darkness. He’s starting to wonder if they’ve been forgotten. If they’re just going to walk through this never-ending cave until they collapse, until they’re crawling, searching for light, a way out, an escape. If they’re lost. Between the silence of the walls, the tattered rock, if they’ll ever find the end.

 

The rock falls to the ground with a clatter as he trips, lurching to the side as his leg gives out, refusing to hold him anymore. There’s a moment, where he’s suspended, flying in the way only those who fall can, before reality comes plummeting back down and he’s crashing, hand hitting the wall with a quiet _slap_.

 

There’s a sharp sound, the clash of metal against metal jarring their ears as spikes slam out of the walls surrounding them. They rip through Kevin’s skin, breaking through his muscles, piercing his veins, as they come out the other side, glistening with the pieces of life they’ve stolen.

 

Kevin gasps, eyes closed, frozen. Pain spikes up his arm, trembling along his skin, a foreign entity taking over his nerves.

 

The pain of it defeats him, the shock of it almost as bad as the pain itself, almost surreal, it could be a dream. Like this sort of horror could only exist in someone’s imagination, only exist in the depths of a twisted psyche. Shaking, he lets out a wet breath, shivers wracking his body, sweat breaking out along his brow.

 

He knows he should move his hand, knows he should take it away, but he’s frozen, hands refusing to move. All he can think is that this is it. This is the beginning.

 

Maybe this isn’t a dream, after all.

 

There’s a warmth behind him suddenly, grasping onto him as Mike slowly pulls him away from the wall, taking his hand off the spikes.

 

A burst of blood trickles down Kevin’s arm until he’s completely stained by it, until it soaks into his shirt, his clothes, an ever-present reminder.

 

They’re not safe.

 

~

 

Kevin hisses, closing his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in his hand as Mike wraps it in a piece of cloth. Pulling it tight, Mike holds it there for a second, a moment, his warmth soaking into Kevin’s skin, “Does that feel okay?”

 

Kevin nods.

 

~

 

The silence is nerve-racking. Every echo seeming to mean something, like the quiet is just begging something to come out, to gobble them up like mince meat pies, like they’re nothing but a snack. 

 

Crunch.

  
Kevin shudders, trying to forget, for just a moment. He can’t seem to help but imagine the worst-case scenario. The monsters in the dark feel all too real now.

 

Rushing forward, he closes the distance between them, as though Mike can protect him, can protect them, as though being one of two will make it harder for the monsters to find them.

 

As though they’re more than just walking targets.

 

Making the bulls-eye bigger doesn’t actually help.

 

But Kevin sticks close anyways, ignoring the deliberate quiet.

 

He doesn’t care that Mike seems to hate him, he doesn’t.

 

But his hand is throbbing, and his head is spinning with nightmares, and he can’t seem to keep the words inside, “Do you hate me?”

 

A genuinely surprised look crosses Mike’s face before it shuts down, blank once again, “No.”

 

Kevin frowns, he wasn’t really expecting that, but then again, what else do you say if someone asks if you hate them? “You don’t have to say that just so you don’t hurt my feelings. It’s okay if you hate me. I know I can be annoying sometimes.”

 

“I don’t hate you.” There’s anger in his voice, frustration, and Kevin flinches.

 

He hates anger. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Fucking hell,” Mike growls, “I don’t hate you.”

 

“Okay,” he says, quietly, resisting the urge to prolong the conversation, a distraction from this tunnel, from the quiet breaths, the dimming light.

 

He’s not sure it’s worth it to get away.

 

“I like you, okay?”

 

Kevin startles, eyes wide as he looks at Mike, “What?”

 

“I like you,” Mike says with a scowl, moving faster, feet slipping against the rocky floor. “We’re all gonna fucking die and I like you.” Stopping suddenly, he closes his eyes, “Fuck.”

 

Kevin blinks, eyes wide, rushing forward as he grabs onto his arm, clutching tightly to his frozen hand, “Mike.”

 

Mike takes a deep breath, trying to force back the panic, the fear.

 

“Mike, I like you too.”

 

“Oh.”

 

~

 

Patrick looks around him, eyes intent, searching the room. There has to be a way out of here, a passageway, a door. A place of entry, a place of exit. If only he can find it.

 

Though running away isn’t his plan.

  
He’s going to find that motherfucking bastard. He’s going to find him and he’s going to kill him.

 

For Pete.

 

His eyes move to him, lying on the ground, where Patrick had slowly levered him down, trying to give him some sort of peace. As though moving someone’s body without them in it can make them happy, make them come back.

 

 _Too late for that_.

 

But he couldn’t stand seeing him, eyes glazed, staring Patrick down, watching him everywhere he went. So he picked him up, hand slipping through the blood, through pieces of Pete as he took out the nails, pretending he couldn’t hear the crunch of bones, the grinding slide, the quiet dragging of Pete’s insides, with every move he made.

 

Arranging Pete carefully, Patrick laid him on the ground, closing Pete’s eyes with clumsy fingers before he kissed Pete’s head, lips stained red, metallic.

 

Pete.

 

The Doctor’s image flashes across his mind, his laugh echoing until he can’t hear anything else. Until it becomes a remix of death, lodging itself in his mind, making a home for itself. Taunting him.

 

Turning away, he walks along the length of the wall, determined, the hatred in his veins turning hard, cold. Eyes burning, he searches.

 

He finds it in plain sight, lying between a counter and the corner, almost impossible to see. Fitting in seamlessly with the rest of the wall.

 

A slow grin spreads across his face.

 

~

“Do you hear that?”

 

There’s a skittering, a rush of white noise.

 

“Hear what?” Mike asks quietly.

 

An almost imperceptible scraping.

 

 _Mine_.

 

“That,” Kevin jerks around, looking backwards , eyes wide.

 

The darkness looms behind them.

 

“Huh.”

 

“Mike,” he says again, reaching out to grab Mike’s hand, holding on tightly. Shaking his head, he closes his eyes on a wince, “Do you see anything?”

 

Mike glances backwards, a quick flick of his eyes searching the darkness. “I don’t-” A movement, “Shit.”

 

“Mike?” Kevin tenses, “What?” He looks backwards, following Mike’s eyes, as his fingers tighten.

 

Mike squints, watching the darkness, trying to find the movement. With a final squeeze of Kevin’s hand, he relaxes, “It’s nothing.” Letting out a breath, he says again, quietly, to himself, “Nothing.”

 

“Right,” Kevin says, looking up at Mike, listening to the white noise that isn’t really white noise. That changes, is different in some way. Skittering up his spine with its discordant music.

 

Mike nods, tugging on Kevin’s hand as he turns around before he stops, frozen in his tracks. There it is, again. The slicing of the darkness, something moving, skittering away to the almost inaudible sound of laughter.

 

“Did you see that?”

 

Kevin gulps, feeling Mike tense beside him, before he shakes his head, shivering.

 

“Shit,” Mike lets out a tense breath, quick, before he pulls Kevin closer, tugging him along. They have to get out of here.

 

_Hungry._

 

~

 

The Doctor watches, eyes dark, intent as he stares at the screens, shadowing him in blue. Tilting his head, he looks at them curiously, thoughtfully. They need more. Just a little bit, a bit of pressure, a bit of pain.

 

He can see the fear in their eyes, he can see the blood on their skin, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

 

They need to feel it, to feel it all. The life and the death. They need to know.

 

And they don’t.

 

Not yet.

 

He needs. Needs to give them everything he promised, everything he so carefully planned.

 

Turning to his controls, he stares at the buttons, searching through them with his eyes, remembering, until he finds the one he wants. The one that will give him, give them, what they need.

 

Grinning, teeth stretching across his face, he presses the button, eyes glued to the big screen.

 

~

 

The first hint is the silence, the air echoing with its lack as the rocks hum in the quiet.

 

The second is the growl. Dark and menacing, vibrating off the harsh edges of the cave as it curls around them in cold tendrils, seeping into their bones.

 

Something’s behind them.

 

An icy chill shivers down their back. Turning around, they see.

 

A monster, heaving great breaths as it shakes, a low rumble coming from it as it slowly lifts its head. As blood-shot eyes stare at them, its furred back curved, stretching high. As the darkness streaks around it, violence spread.

 

It growls at the sight of them, at seeing them waiting, frozen, before it. Teeth stretching into a sharp grin, saliva gathering at the points, it takes a step forward, giant paws hitting the ground, claws scraping against the floor.

 

So hungry.

 

Another step, the scratch of nails along a chalkboard. And then another, moving towards them, closer.

 

Closer.

 

They stumble backwards, eyes wide, staring at the monster. Staring into its eyes. Its dark, hungry eyes. There’s no escape.

 

Turning, they run, feet pounding against the ground, pushing themselves forward, propelling them farther into the cave.

 

The animal lets out a yowl, excitement welling at the movement, at the panic, the fear. The blood always tastes sweeter when they run, when they push and strain and hide, always rushes along its tongue, across its teeth. Mouth open, it chases them, slavering at the idea of their insides on the outside.

 

There’s a growl, right on their heels, trembling through their ears, as the animal pounces, mouth wide as it clamps down, tearing into Mike’s leg.

 

Pain spikes up his body as he falls, body crashing to the ground with a jarring thud. With big huffing breaths, the animal clamps a large claw on his body, the razor-edge points digging into him, puncturing him as they hold him down, still. Lifting its great maw, the animal grins, blood matting his fur.

 

It leans down, ready to tear into him, to break him apart, until the cave is spattered with his remains. Until there’s nothing left of him but bright swatches of red.

 

That’s not okay.

 

Before Kevin knows he’s moving, he rams into it, hitting it with all his might, a jackhammer to its side, pushing it away. It stumbles, losing its balance, delirious at the smell of blood.

 

Eyes closing, it forgets to right itself, forgets to straighten itself out. Its prey can’t get away, they’re children, simple, easy. Falling, it knocks against the wall of the cave, leaning there for a moment while it savors the smell.

 

It shouldn’t have done that.

 

The spikes on the walls are unforgiving, careless of their victim as they pierce through the animal’s fur, imbedding themselves into its bones, its insides.

 

Kevin ignores it, pulling Mike away, grabbing onto him and moving a couple feet back before he collapses to the ground, the adrenaline leaving his body.

 

Exhaustion creeps up his limbs, forcing him down, the weight of it pushing at him. He closes his eyes, feeling the added weight of Mike on top of him before he forces his eyes open, and he watches.

 

He watches the animal, watches it shudder, eyes still moving, staring at them from between the spikes. He watches it stare at them, watches the blood seeping from its wound. Watches as it grunts, pulling away from the wall as it staggers to the center of the tunnel.

 

Eyes still glued to their unmoving bodies.

 

Kevin lets out a deep breath.

 

It moves slowly toward them, one step at a time, determined to find them, determined to catch them. It doesn’t matter that its side is littered with holes, that it’s limping, its leg losing blood at an alarming rate.

 

It doesn’t matter.

 

It’s almost there, staring at their faces, watching the resignation, the knowledge. They know there’s no escape. Just one more step.

 

One more.

 

There’s a crackling, a sudden swish, and a spike falls, long, sharp, the metallic coating shining in the darkness. It falls quickly, deadly, piercing the animal’s head, its sharp point knifing the brain, pinning it to the ground. There’s a crunch of bones as the brain fluid starts to seep out, slicking the spike with its juices.

 

Kevin blinks.

 

Laughter spills across the tunnel, echoing throughout the cave, a sweet voice coming over the sound system, “How are you two doing? Good, I hope. I see you met my friend. He’s been a lovely pet of mine. I’m glad you two had the opportunity to meet him. And I hope you cherish it, knowing that you were the last people to see him alive. Before he finally got the rest he deserved.”

 

~

 

They’re sitting, sprawled across the tunnel as they talk quietly, unmoving.

 

Did the Doctor break them?

 

Are they ready for the end? Is this too much for them?

 

The Doctor always tries to give the children what they need, but sometimes he messes up. Sometimes he goes too far, gives them more than they can handle.

 

He sighs, watching them sadly.

 

It could have been beautiful, perfect. A beautiful tragedy to be remember for years to come. He thought they would have lasted longer.

 

But his kitten was the last straw, he guesses.

 

If only it weren’t. He could have disillusioned them before he killed them, could have taken everything he could. He could have given them more, given them his best.

 

It would have been beautiful.

 

To tear them apart, piece by piece, giving them everything they never thought they needed.

 

It would have been _perfect_.

 

~

 

“We should move.”

 

Mike shifts, laying comfortably on the rocks, eyes blank,“Why?”

 

The darkness looms about them.

 

Kevin glances over at the dead animal, pinned down, eyes open, red, “He’s staring at us. I swear he’s gonna get up, and come after us again.”

 

Mike laughs weakly, blood loss making his sight blurry, “I really doubt that’s going to happen.”

 

Kevin frowns, staring at the animal warily, as though it would suddenly shake off the spike and lick its lips, “Lots of things I doubted would happen have happened today.”

 

Mike looks at him, glancing up at him from beneath dark eyelashes, wishing he could take away the darkness in his voice, the frustration in his eyes, but it’s far past the time for wishes.

 

There is one thing he can do though, “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

 

Kevin grins, eyes bright for a moment before losing their spark, before he slips over to Mike’s bad side, wrapping his arm around Mike’s waist, urging him to hold on, “Come on.”

 

Mike grunts, closing his eyes around the pain in his leg, the perfect bite mark he’ll forever have as a souvenir.

 

And then they’re up, Mike limping along beside Kevin, stumbling as the world shakes before him.

 

“You know,” Kevin says in the silence, “if we die, I’m glad it won’t just be me. I’m glad that we’re here. Together.”

 

Mike smiles, stopping for a second, allowing himself to rest, as he turns to Kevin. Pressing their foreheads together, he lets out a pain filled breath, taking comfort in their proximity, “Me too, kid. Me too.”

 

Kevin smiles up at him, tangling their hands together, deaf to the sudden snick of a lock.

 

To the swing of a trapdoor opening in the darkness, the movement of the shadows.

 

To the fall of the pickaxe, its pathway smooth through the air, a perfect half circle, slicing across the cave.

 

It hits them with a thunk, spearing them through, pressing them up against the wall, an irrepressible force, holding them close, together.

 

Spikes shoot out of the wall, a quiet click, inundating them with holes. More and more, a checkerboard of thin, metallic spikes joining them in their grave.

 

A gasping breath, the trickle of blood down the wall.

 

The Doctor pokes his head from one of his many passageways, smiling sweetly when he sees the two of them pinned to the wall, “You’re beautiful.”

 

A glistening canvas, they shine. Littered with holes, blood mixing, connecting them, the spikes running them through. A pickaxe slammed through their hearts, together, forever. Finally mixing, love in its purest form.

 

He smiles, stepping closer, nodding in acknowledgement when he sees Kevin, eyes open, watching him, “Hi. I wanted to give you two something special. You’re such precious creatures, I wanted to give you something you really deserved. I’m sorry I messed up so terribly with the animal. I would have liked to have given you more, but I’m not infallible.”

 

Kevin doesn’t respond, mouth gaping open, blood trickling down the sides, as blank eyes follow the Doctor’s movements.

 

“Sorry about this, but,” The Doctor bites his lip as he moves closer, reaching to grab a hold of the pickaxe, ”I’ll be needing this.”

 

With a sickening crunch, he pulls it out, the force of it causing their bodies to stretch, pressing outwards, a hole in the middle, in the center, their world.

 

Spilling out across the rocks.

 

~

 

 

Patrick’s gone, disappeared, off the Doctor's monitors, off his radar.

 

He’s coming.

 

He’ll create his own future, his own world, his own death.

 

The Doctor smiles. What a smart child.

 

How exciting.

 

~

 

Gerard opens his eyes slowly, digging himself out of the drug-induced slumber. Groaning, he forces himself up, pushing at the cold surface beneath him, “Frankie?”

 

“Yeah?” Frank nods, blinking groggily at Gerard, “What’s going on?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Gerard frowns, looking downward, trying to pull his thoughts together, bring himself back to reality, before his eyes start registering, “Holy shit!” He backs up suddenly dragging himself across the room.

 

“What? Gerard?”

 

Gerard points, closing his eyes tightly, shaking, and Frank looks down, sees him. Mikey.

 

Torn apart, blood rusted over, dark, cold.

 

“What the fuck.” Frank jumps back, blood on his hands, his hair, “What the fucking fuck.”

 

“Frank,” Gerard says, voice wavering, eyes closed, the drugs finally breaking down enough, losing themselves in his bloodstream enough that he can remember.

 

Frank comes to his side, skidding across the floor as he kneels next to Gerard, resting his head on Gerard’s shoulder, “Fuck.”

 

There’s a pounding, a sudden sound causing them to jerk, to jump back, to look towards the sound.

 

The walls are moving, the white metal flying up quickly, the room finally as one once again.

 

It takes them awhile to notice the bodies, the three extra people lying on the floor, all carefully laid out in a row. To see the carnage that had taken place while they were asleep.

 

Eyes open, watching them, the whites of their eyes visible, too visible.

 

Frank walks closer, ever curious, ignoring the macabre, determined to find out who they are, what happened to them.

 

He only recognizes them when he’s almost next to them, next to their twisted heads, forced to look at Frank, at Gerard.

 

That’s Mike, and that’s Kevin. And over there, that’s, that’s Pete.

 

The last time he saw them, they were all alive.

 

But now they’re just staring, mouths stretched in a smile.

 

And as he looks closer, as he stands near them, he sees the staples, holding those smiles in place, forcing their joy.

 

Making them last forever.

 

A spike falls from the ceiling, plummeting into the body in front of him.

 

It bounces, feet and head jerking from the force of the spike. A doll, grotesque smile unmoving, as it grins at them.

 

The spike moves up, leaving a hole before plunging back down, again and again, littering the already dead body with holes, cold pieces spraying across the room. And then it stops, a cranking sound dragging it up slowly, before the walls at the end of the room start to undulate.

 

An wave in the ceiling as spikes start falling, shaking down, clattering to the ground as they come closer, closer.

 

A door opens up behind them, a grating of gears drawing their attention backwards, precious seconds lost.

 

Frank turns back around, eyes wide as he sees movement out of the corner of his eyes.

 

Stumbling back at the sight, barely saving himself, a spike comes down, slicing through the air, spearing his hand.

 

Convulsing involuntarily, he doesn’t notices the arms grabbing him from behind, pulling him back, away from the next spike.

 

With a terrifying rip, his hand breaks free, tearing apart, two ragged pieces falling free, lifeless.

 

Gerard pulls him, dragging him, refusing to lose him too.

 

And then they’re in, into the next room, safety. 

 

The door slams shut, blocking off the view of spikes battering the room beyond them.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

But Frank just sits there, shaking, staring at his ruined hand.

 

It’s in two pieces, ragged skin breaking the hand in half, the bones shining white against the blood.

 

It dangles, fingers unmoving, unable to work as he holds it, feeling the broken crevices of his own body.

 

As he feels the way it’s destroyed him.

 

~

 

“I know this place.”

 

Water drips in the distance.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Frank says quietly, shivers running down his spine, across his body, a low level fear thrumming through his veins. “This is that hospital I went to.”

 

The dripping stops.

 

“Hospital?” Gerard stills.

 

“Yeah. This is the waiting room,” His voice is a little dead, a little not there. Almost as though all the energy he has is going into saying these words. Into distracting himself. “I used to make up stories about that painting over there,” he nods over at the wall opposite them, a blue painting hanging on the wall, abstract and chaotic.

 

Like clouds in the sky. It’s a story, a picture, in and of itself. All you have to do is find it.

 

But Gerard’s not listening, still locked on the hospital. On what that could mean. And even though it’s a long shot, it’s worth a try, “Do you think it’s a perfect replica?”

 

Frank shrugs, eyes still cold, blank, as he cradles his hand, “I dunno.”

 

“Frankie,” Gerard turns to him, reaching to wrap his hand around Frank’s arm, “Maybe there’s something we can use.”

 

He looks at Gerard blankly, “Use?”

 

“Weapons, scalpels, needles, that sort of thing.”

 

There’s a spark in Frank’s eyes, a single sign of life.

 

“They do surgeries in here right?”

 

“In the real one, yeah,” Frank looks at him, eyes dying, “This isn't real.”

 

“Frankie, Frankie,” Gerard looks at him, determined to make him feel something, to make him get rid of that look in Frank’s eyes, defeat.

 

He has to.

 

“It has your painting. Maybe whoever’s doing this likes perfection.”

 

Frankie doesn’t move.

 

“Frankie,” Gerard shakes him slightly, forcing their eyes to meet, “Please. Let’s just try.”

 

“Okay.”

 

~

 

Frank imagines that the Doctor’s monstrous, that scars cover his body, matching his insides to his outsides.

 

He imagines that he’s broken, that when you look at him, all you can see are twisted edges, sharp corners.

 

He thinks that perhaps you can see it.

 

See it in his eyes, in the way he walks.

 

He imagines that you can look at him and know.

 

This man is a monster.

 

But the truth is.

 

Monsters are everywhere.

 

The one person you expect to be okay, to be good.

 

Is the one person who wants to tear you down.

 

Just because they can.

 

Because they want to see your insides, the pieces that make you you.

 

They want to see them shatter.

 

~

 

It’s quiet, eerily so. This place that should be covered in sound, should be inundated in people, is silent.

 

Abandoned.

 

It’s nothing but a broken shell, a playground for the naughty. For the twisted, the broken.

 

And they’re walking through the middle of it.

 

Frank wishes he could care more. But his hand is throbbing, and his brain feels numb, every thought pushing at layers of cotton to get out, to join the world.

 

So he figures it’s easier to say nothing.

 

But the quiet pulls at Gerard, it pulls and tugs, and all he really wants to do is make Frank smile.

 

So he starts to talk. Talk about everything, anything. He talks about Doom Patrol and old cartoons they used to watch.

 

He talks about memories, waxing lyrical over their time together, trying to pretend that they’re not here.

 

That the walls aren’t closing in on them. Aren’t pressing closer and closer.

 

Aren’t echoing with words they shouldn’t be able to say.

 

~

 

When Gerard goes silent, Frank figures he just gave up. That his voice had gone too hoarse, his breath too lost. That it wasn’t worth it anymore. That _he_ wasn’t worth it anymore. That his silence broke Gerard down, tore him to pieces.

 

And Frank knows it’s his fault, that he’s the reason Gerard stopped talking. He knows if he had just nodded, just hummed a response, it would have been okay.

 

He wouldn’t have gone quiet.

 

Why the fuck isn’t he saying anything?

 

The silence crowds in on him, the easy cadence of words no longer a distraction. A distraction from this. From what could happen.

 

Do you know how many people go “missing”?

 

Far too fucking many.

 

There’s a quiet noise behind him, and he frowns before arms wrap around his waist, suddenly, bands of steel, pulling him backwards in one quick motion.

 

A moment of stillness.

 

He’s gone.

 

~

 

There’s a hand to his lips, blocking his words, a vaguely familiar man crouching before him. Eyes intense, the man listens, head cocked to the side, a concentrated power in his stance keeping them still.

 

Silent.

 

Gerard stares at Frank from the opposite side of the tunnel, eyes wide, as they wait.

 

And wait.

 

And then, there’s a voice, coming through the walls, “So you got away. Congratulations.” Kindness spins across his words, “You have a chance, a beautiful chance. I hope you use it well. Choose your fate.”

 

In the silence following, the man nods, releases Frank from his grip.

 

Apparently, that was what they were waiting for.

 

~

 

“Wait. Patrick?”

 

The man nods, watching Frank from his perch against the wall, “Yeah.”

 

He can see it now, see the guy they first met, the one that smiled and tugged on his hat. He can see it, hidden beyond the darkness in his eyes, the coldness. The shadows on his face slicing down his cheekbones, pooling beneath his eyes.

 

He can see the hat, the eyes, the mouth. Everything’s the same. Everything’s unchanged.

 

He’s just not smiling.

 

Not anymore.

 

Patrick looks at them, hunched over, eyes bright, gleaming behind his glasses, a frame for his madness.

 

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

 

~

 

_(Pete, Pete, Pete.)_

 

“There’s no way out.”

 

_(Pinned up, against the wall.)_

 

“Whoever’s doing this is smart. And he doesn’t want to lose us.”

 

_(Like a doll. A fucking doll.)_

 

“The only way to get out of here alive.”

 

_(He’s not gonna get away with this. Never gonna get away with it.)_

 

“Is to find him. And take him down.”

 

_(I’ll get him, Pete. I’ll get him.)_

_  
_

_(For you.)_

 

~

 

Patrick leads the way, carefully maneuvering himself through the pathways as Gerard and Frank crowd together.

 

“You think he’s okay?”

 

Frank raises an eyebrow at him, questioning.

 

“He seems kinda,” Gerard twirls a finger at the side of his head, “loopy.”

 

Frank glances at him, turning to look at Patrick, raising an eyebrow.

 

He’s walking, ignoring them, eyes burning through the darkness of the chamber. Back slumped, he curls over himself, determination in every step.

 

“Didn’t he lose his friend?” Frank asks quietly.

 

“Yeah, but,” Gerard shrugs, looking at Frank. _Mikey_ , he doesn’t say.

 

“I think,” Frank says carefully, words coming out in the quiet, “they may have been something more.”

 

“Oh,” Gerard says, watching Patrick, the way he doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t seem to notice anything, not anymore, “That sucks.”

 

“Yeah,” Frank says quietly, watching Gerard. “Yeah.”

 

~

 

The darkness pulls at them, the hollow echoing of the walls a death toll, pressing against their heads, tilting their reality.

 

They seem to pulse, a living embryo beating around them, holding them close.

 

Holding them near.

 

Keeping them trapped, caught up in a twisted mind, existing only in the darkness of the Doctor’s thoughts. Existing only in the madness of irreality.

 

Mice caught in maze, a mousetrap, waiting to be slaughtered.

 

Frank curls his hand around Gerard’s, holding on tightly, fingers clenching.

 

He holds on, listening to Gerard’s intakes of breath, his quiet steps along the empty tunnel around them. Holds on as the walls whisper, a silent watchdog, forever tilting their world, turning it on its end.

 

A brief moment of silence, the rustling of air, and there’s a prick.

 

A quiet prick, almost forgettable, just a quick itch of Frank's arm and he’s moving again, footsteps silent against the ground.

 

And in the silence, in the dark, frozen insides of this labyrinth, Gerard’s hand slips.

 

Loose. Tenuous.

 

Gone.

 

~

 

Frank stumbles forward, blinking against the dizziness, against the pounding in his head. The walls twist around him, spinning on their axis. A broken silence in the monotony of existence.

 

But that’s normal, right?

 

~

 

_The walls drip the blood of those already fallen._

 

~

 

The strike comes from nowhere, a wooden rod gleaming the darkness, two eyes glowing behind it as it comes slamming down.

 

A trajectory meant for destruction, for death.

 

A trajectory meant for Gerard, wanting to smash him open, take out his insides.

 

Paint the walls with his brains, make it easy, simple.

 

Patrick ruins it, makes it complicated, hard, reaching over Gerard’s shoulder, catching the rod, barely, just barely.

 

The blow hits him, sends him down, forces him against the wall, cradling him arm, blocked by the narrow tunnel.

 

Gerard turns, eyes wide as he stumbles back, watching Frank raise his arms for another attack, “Frank.”

 

But Frank just grins, corners twisting, as he brings down the rod, torn hand twisting around the handle in his madness, a harsh displacement of air as he tears it through the quiet of the passageways.

 

Gerard jumps the side, instinct moving him before thought can catch up, curling inward on himself in shock as Frank prepares for another assault.

 

The stick rises above him, thick, broken edges shining in the dim light, the white of his bone. It rises higher, Frank laughing, at Gerard, at Patrick.

 

At the blood already churning through the world they’ve found themselves in. At his hand, nothing but a pest.

 

Gerard jumps at him, hitting him in his stomach, the stick clattering to the ground beyond them, rolling into the darkness.

 

Clambering up, Gerard presses him to the ground, hands hard on his shoulders.

 

“Frank, please,” Gerard pleads him, looking into his eyes, searching for any spark of intelligence, any spark of life.

 

But Frank just grins, he grins and he grins and he grins, teeth shining in the light as he brings his hands up, fingers curved.

 

His nails catch on Gerard’s cheeks, digging into the soft skin, before Gerard grabs onto his hands, slipping in the blood, fingers pressing between the gap of Frank’s broken hand, as he pushes them away, leaving a bloody gash in its place, torn chunks of his skin beneath Frank’s fingernails.

 

“Frank,” he says again, desperation bleeding into his voice, but Frank just curves his fingers around the hands holding them down, just digs his nails into any skin, any flesh, he can reach, impervious to pain.

 

“Frank, stop, please, stop.”

 

There’s nothing.

 

The silence shouldn’t be so fucking painful.

 

And then Gerard’s loses grip, one of Frank’s hands slipping out of the living enclosure holding it captive.

 

With a grin, he wraps that hand, that rogue body part, around Gerard’s throat.

 

And he squeezes.

 

His fingers tighten, his nails tiny daggers digging into the back of Gerard’s throat.

 

Gerard gasps, losing grip of Frank’s other hand which immediately comes up, curling around Gerard’s neck in a steel grip, slicking blood against Gerard’s throat, future already set.

 

“No,” Gerard manages to say around his closing air pipes, around the hoarseness of his throat.

 

He starts to scrabble, hands searching the floors around him, at the fingers at his neck, panic riding his coattails as black spots appear in his vision, as his brain starts to fail.

 

In the quiet acceptance of death, he finds something, his hands curling around something real, something he can use.

 

With a final choked noise, he rams it into Frank’s head, loosening Frank’s hands enough that he can move, that he can push Frank’s hands back down, hold them to the ground with his knees, pushing the sharp edges into them.

 

That he can see the bloody hole in Frank’s head.

 

That he can see what he picked up.

 

A knife.

 

The edges dripping, sharp.

 

And he starts to drop it, he starts to let it fall from his hands, but Frank moves.

 

He fucking moves, smile still plastered on his face, his hands wiggling out from under Gerard’s knees, mouth wide, saliva gathering at the sides.

 

“Frank.”

 

Frank’s hand slips, Gerard’s knee sliding down to his elbow, as Frank reaches up to claw at Gerard, ripping apart anything he can reach. Anything he can touch, anything he can dig his fingers into.

 

And Gerard just sits, watching him, unable to move, unable to stop seeing the hole in his head, draining out blood.

 

But he’s still moving.

 

He’s still staring at Gerard with those glazed eyes, still watching him as though he can’t look away.

 

Gerard’s knee slides a bit further down Frank’s arm.

 

But he’s bleeding out.

 

He’s bleeding out, and his hand is reaching for Gerard's face, his body writhing beneath his.

 

He won’t be able to hold Frank much longer. Won’t be able to keep him down.

 

Gerard clutches onto the knife in his hand.

 

There’s no recognition in Frank’s eyes as Gerard brings down the knife, as he digs it into Frank’s head, slicing across skin, across flesh and bone.

 

There’s no stuttering of movement, no screams, no fear.

 

That should make it easier.

 

That should make it fucking easier.

 

But Frank just stares up at him, grinning as the life leaves him, as his eyes slowly close, his struggles growing still.

 

And even when he’s gone, when his head is splattered across the ground, when the blood crawls across his face, he stares up at Gerard.

 

And he smiles.

 

~

 

 

The Doctor loves presents, loves the surprise, the thought. Just brightly colored packages he finds somewhere, dragged across the floor, splattered against the walls. A gift to himself, a gift from someone else. Something better than a book, a picture frame.

 

He likes it when they’re brightly covered. When they’re more than just the grey world he lives in. When he can live with them, in their glory.

 

Red is his favorite color, after all.

 

~

 

Gerard can feel it.

 

The blood.

 

Drying on his skin in flakes. Dark, brown, crusting over.

 

He can feel it burning, trembling against his skin with excitement.

 

Wanting to burrow in, burrow deep, until it can never come out.

 

Until it sings along his blood for as long as he lives.

 

As long as he breathes. As long as his heart still works.

 

Until all he can see is the broken remains of his friend, of Frank, splattered against the ground.

 

~

 

It’s strangely indifferent, this world.

 

This broken reality where the walls move, where horror lies in the corners and hollows of the walls.

 

Where darkness clings to their bodies like a sunken cloak, pulling them into a world not of their own making.

 

It feels empty though, like someone’s reached in and taken the skin, taken the muscles, the guts, and left nothing but bone, a skeletal cage. Like they’ve been stripped, stripped of fear, stripped of thought.

 

But there’s a hole somewhere.

 

Somewhere in his heart.

 

And Gerard doesn’t really want to wash his hands. Doesn’t want to see only in shades of gray.

 

But he can’t really change that, can he?

 

And then in the silence, in the pitter patter, Patrick reaches back, pulls Gerard forward suddenly, the slamming of concrete against concrete echoing behind them.

 

With a quiet reeling, the slab of concrete pulls back, retreating from the walls of their cage.

 

It would have crushed him, a line of destruction across his chest, crunching his ribs, his heart.

 

Another thing he owes Patrick.

 

But Patrick doesn’t care. Doesn’t see the desperation clawing from his heart. Just looks at him, eyes dark, and says, “Careful.”

 

~

 

There’s a door in front of them.

 

Just sitting there.

 

It’s nothing special, almost blending into the walls around it. It looks like nothing, it should be nothing, but Patrick’s stopped, staring at it, a frown marring his face.

 

“What is it?” Gerard says softly, voice low, quiet, following Patrick’s lead.

 

The silence engulfs them, the stirring of the air the only sound as Patrick peers at the door, “It shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“There’s nowhere else to go.”

 

Gerard frowns.

 

“Every path, every tunnel, has led here.” Patrick stares at the door for a second, “This is where they want us.”

 

Gerard startles, eyes wide, “What?”

 

“Be careful.” Is all Patrick says as he reaches for the handle.

 

The door opens smoothly, only a quiet click indicating its change in position, a beam of light spreading across the floor in an angle.

 

And then it’s open, the two of them blinking against the sudden light, spreading color across the tunnel behind them.

 

And they stare.

 

Monitors cover the wall before them, brightly lit screens showing colored images of the rooms. Of the hospital. Of the dark underground.

 

They flash across the screens, places they were at, places they saw move and change.

 

Places that were less rooms and more death traps, areas of torture.

 

And they’re empty.

 

Completely empty.

 

There’s no blood, no bodies. Nothing left. Everything once against pristine.

 

Their very presence wiped clean.

 

The quiet fuzz of the machines trickles along the background as Patrick takes Gerard’s arm, “Come on. I see a door.”

 

Gerard stumbles along after Patrick, unable to take his eyes from the bright light, unable to stop thinking about it.

 

Someone’s watching.

 

~

 

The Doctor smiles, white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

 

They’re beautiful.

 

In person, on-screen.

 

Like gems, jewels, sparkling in the light he’s given them.

 

He’ll cherish them. He’ll love them, give them everything they could ever dream of.

 

They’ll shine with him.

 

~

 

Patrick walks forward, a determination in his eyes, a lighted madness. Concentration imposed upon every step as he continues onward, slicing a path through the darkness, through the quiet determination.

 

Erased. Forgotten.

 

Gerard sees it before Patrick does, stumbling after him as he is.

 

Sees the change in shadows, the quiet click.

 

And so he starts to move, starts to run, impulse governing his actions.

 

Hands outstretched, he pushes Patrick forward, hands brushing against his shirt for a few moments. For a few precious seconds, face desperate as his eyes meet Patrick’s, a single instant of connection before the hammer swings, flying across the tunnel, ramming into him.

 

With a sickening crunch, it slams into him, throwing him across the room until he collides with the wall. It breaks him, cracking his ribs, tearing his insides apart. Until he’s only pieces, battered flesh, bones sticking out of the skin, detached from muscle.

 

Until his head falls to the side, his eyes bulging from their sockets as his neck spurts blood.

 

Until his eyes find Patrick, blood red, a sacrificial offering.

 

Patrick stares, eyes wide, feeling himself crack, the fine tendrils of sanity holding him together tearing apart, finally ripping to shreds.

 

This is wrong.

 

It’s _wrong_.

 

And so he starts to run, feet pounding against the ground as he pushes himself away.

 

Away.

 

As he runs from this all, from reality, from this dark, broken hall filled with monsters.

 

Hoping he can get away, hoping he can be gone.

  
Disappear. Find a way to a place where his friends aren’t dead, where he hasn’t seen people become deformed, eternally changed from who they were before. Before he saw the life disappear from Gerard’s eyes, before he saw Pete splayed across the wall.

 

Before he felt his heart fucking break.

 

He doesn’t want to be here.

 

He doesn’t want this to be real. It can’t be real. It can’t be real.

 

It can’t be real.

 

But it is.

 

It fucking is.

 

~

 

He keeps running. He can’t seem to stop, can’t seem to lose the demons chasing him, the memories.

 

He can’t seem to find the strength to stop. To give up, to fight, to do something.

 

But he doesn’t know what he feels anymore, can’t see anything but blood, but bones and ripped hair.

 

And so he runs.

 

Until his heart pounds, ripping up through his chest, clenching his throat. Until his lungs start to burn, his legs grow weak.

 

And still, he runs. And he runs.

 

Until running is more stumbling, forcing his body to move in the only way it can as he barges into a room, the sides of the tunnel opening suddenly, a great cavern before him.

 

Until he falls on his knees, hands pressed to the ground as he gasps, pushing back the tears, the hysteria.

 

Trying to put himself back together again, trying to forget, for just a moment.

 

Just a moment.

 

Closing his eyes, he forces his breath to slow.

 

In. Out.

 

In. Out.

 

Forces himself to calm, sheer willpower pulling himself up, bringing him back.

 

And then, he looks up.

 

Before him is a ledge, a simple ledge, a black rail guarding the madness below, protecting people from falling.

 

And beneath that.

 

Patrick crawls forward, hands clenching on the railing as he gazes downward.

 

Beneath that are capsules.

 

Hundreds of them.

 

Glass capsules spanning from one side of the room to the other, all filled.

 

All bearing occupants.

 

All staring straight ahead, with dark, dead eyes.

 

Hundreds.

 

And as he’s staring, as the shock beats its way through his system, as the horror eats at him, a man steps in behind him, feet moving silently across the floor.

 

And the man smiles, careful of his scrubs, of his doctor’s mask, of the knife carelessly held in one hand, watching Patrick kindly.

 

It’s too bad Patrick doesn’t turn around.

 

It’s too bad the fear eats him up, that he can’t turn away from the sight before him.

 

That all he can see are the dead faces, staring.

 

That all he can think is.

 

_Is Pete down there?_

 

It’s too bad really.

 

He might have survived.

 

~

 

The hospital is loud, restless, noise rushing across his ears as doctors scurry back and forth, as he finds himself back among his coworkers. Back among his chains.

 

A woman comes up beside him, “Did you have a fun vacation?”

 

The Doctor nods, glad to be reminded, “Yes, dear.” He smiles, turning to her as they walk, “It was very relaxing, thank you for asking.”

 

“Good,” the woman says, sincerity bleeding through her words, “I’m glad you went. You do so much good here. You’ve saved so many lives. You deserve a break.”

 

“Thank you,” the Doctor says, taking her hand in his.

 

And he smiles, “It’s good to know my work is appreciated.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hope you enjoy your stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/502922) by [itsforscience](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsforscience/pseuds/itsforscience)




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